Secret Agent Man Finn
by ChuckNorrisLeftFist
Summary: When Supervillain Kurt Hummel threatens to reveal head of state shopping secrets, Sue sends Agent Finn Hudson to stop him and his army of catwalkminions. Also featuring Lord Tubbington, a dance-off, a Hall of Enemies, and a meat dress.


_AN: With apologies to Ian Fleming and James Bond. Daniel Craig is welcome to come receive his apologies in person._

_This whole thing actually sprang from a conversation with Stardust585, so blame her. :-)_

Prologue from the Secret Agent Files

″Yes, Secret Agent Hudson, I'm moving you to a new special level of agent. In fact, you inspired me to create this new level of agent.″ S, also known as Sue Sylvester, the American equivalent of M, looked directly at Finn Hudson. He was puffing up so much with excitement and pride that she suspected him of being the Pillsbury Dough Boy in disguise. ″You're now a Top Secret Agent.″ _Because if more people find out that you work for us, we'd be the laughingstock of all the secret agencies of the world._

″Do I get new gadgets now?″

S pondered this for a moment and decided that Q had annoyed her enough lately. ″Sure. I'll tell her you're coming.″

Finn watched as Quinn outfitted their British guest with a telephone that used the human bone structure to transmit the sound so that all he needed to do to listen was hold his finger to his ear, and he could talk by barely whispering. The receiver was the size of a postage stamp so he could put it anywhere on his person. That was pretty cool, but since the guy, who he was sure he'd seen before but with dark hair, was only a Secret Agent, he knew he was going to get something even cooler. The guy also got a bunch of disguised explosives. Finn hoped he didn't get ones exactly like those because he'd have a hard time remembering which were the breath mints and which were the bombs. But now that he was a Top Secret Agent, he'd probably get to say things like, ″Sorry, Q, I'd like a robot killing teddy bear instead,″ and she'd actually make it for him.

″And here's the last thing for you,″ she purred at the British guy.

″And what would that be?″

She took his phone and entered something. ″My phone number.″

It didn't even bother Finn to see the two of them preening at one another because he was now a super cool Top Secret Agent.

Just as the blond dude was leaving, he turned around again and said, ″It's for you,″ then stuck his finger near her ear.

″Yes, S, he's been here for a while.″

″Okay, yes, I'll give it to him.″

″Sorry about that,″ she breathed at the guy, whose name Finn still hadn't gotten.

″My pleasure.″ He finally left.

Q looked Finn up and down. ″So S says I need to outfit you for a new mission. She'll send you a briefing but told me to get you started.″ She opened an unlocked filing cabinet. ″Here you go.″

He frowned at what she held in her hand. ″So what do they do?″

Q closed her eyes for a moment. ″You stick this end in here, and then you turn it, and then you pull it out again.″

″Then what do they do?″

″Then the pencil is nice and sharp again. Just don't hurt yourself, like last time.″

″That's _all_ I get?″ There had to be some kind of a mistake. This wasn't cool and explodey at all.

Quinn drew a deep breath. ″Finn, remember when we gave you a gun?″

″I got holes in the targets!″

″Except none of them were in your target. And what about the hairbrush microphone you were supposed to leave in the minister's mistress' bedroom?″

″I did leave it there!″

″After you blew out the receiver by singing into it at the top of your voice. Then there's the photographs you took in the crowd in Geneva with the glasses camera. You added lolcaptions to more than half of them, then uploaded them to Flickr.″

″But they were funny!″

″Or the time S sent you to be deliberately captured and gave you that GPS/transmitter to swallow and then you ate a bean burrito? The only sound we could pick up was your digestion and then your farting.″

″But nobody told me not to eat...″ Finn's good mood from his promotion was starting to deflate just as W stood up from his desk in the back of the room.

″What she means, Finn, is that you're just not great with gadgets. You're much more of the hands-on kind. I bet you can do things with that pencil and sharpener that no other agent would dream of doing.″ He clapped Finn on the shoulder and, feeling all cheered up again, Finn left the room to get his next assignment.

**Top Secret Agent Files (easily borrowed for posting because Finn's password is 12345)**

″So you see, ladies, gentlemen, weasels as represented by Mr. Smythe, I am perfectly capable of carrying out my threat. Unless you undertake the systematic destruction of all the Uggs in the world and carve Elizabeth Taylor into Mount Rushmore by a week from Friday, I will reveal all the personal shopping secrets of all the members of Congress and heads of state of the world. Newt Gingrich's little Tiffany account will be absolutely _nothing_ compared to a certain U.S. Senator's Live Doll collection, and as for a certain member of a certain hereditary monarchy, won't your subjects be surprised by your taste in ladies' dresses? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!″

The members of the UN, Congress, and hundreds of Parliaments, Councils, and monarchs started to talk at once as the transmission closed. In a touching display of international unity of thought, they all agreed that they, personally, had nothing to hide, but that others, particularly their opponents, might be vulnerable, so they'd put a stop to this madman's rampage immediately.

″Of course, the one with the Live Dolls must be Barack Obama, since he's a Muslim, and wants to implement Sharia and death panels for the hard-working Americans who inherited enough money to afford health insurance so that he can give his evolution-believing allies more wives.″ This was pretty much the theme of the day on right-wing US radio, edited for coherence.

Fashion and gossip networks immediately began speculating on which member of which royal family and collectively identified sixteen families and seventy-three individuals as _the_ one, without a doubt.

Photoshoppers all over the world rejoiced, as did Steven Colbert and Jon Stewart. Colbert even offered to take off all his clothing on camera to prove that he had nothing to hide.

On IMDB, virtual blood was almost shed over which image of Elizabeth Taylor should be added to Mount Rushmore.

Two hours later, a slightly more flustered-looking supervillain made a new and much briefer appearance. ″For the last time, I am not going to give any hints!″ and signed off again.

S tapped her finger thoughtfully on her desk. ″This is perfect for Top Secret Agent Hudson. Code name:Cannon Fodder.″


End file.
